her ring sits on the mantlepiece
worn thin on one side
that dull warm yellow
that gold sometimes takes on

i remember it cutting into my hand
as she held it tightly as we shopped
it was bright and shiny then

she used to wear it on her  longest finger
after dad left us, she left it off for awhile
and then wore it on the other hand

it was tight on her workworn hands then
she took it off again before she went into
this last home, but kept it locked in a security draw

now it sits on the mantlepiece, waiting
for me to find a safe place for it
for it is the little bit of my mother's spirit
that will one day be part of my son's  wedding ring,

If only to know it was Wednesday
and to stay under the duvet 'til Saturday,

These are my dreams at play
the hopscotch, one more notch because
I'm that dinosaur,

if only I could tear, tore, the sackcloth and ashes
I wear, wore for unresolved issues.

And then I misuse, confuse the language
where love becomes points on the market board.

I'm glad that I'm not yet awake
If it was so then how could I take
this feeling of emptiness,
but
empty or not
something is gnawing away at my gut,
hollowing me out.

Eventually when the sun rises I'll be
a hologram
a hollow, shallow,
former shadow of a man
and
it's still Wednesday.

I wake her for the Sun that explains itself though plants
For the sky stretched between fingers
I wake her for words which burn the throat
I love her with my ears
One should go to the ends of Earth and find the dew on the grass
I wake her for some distant things
That look alike the ones
Here
For the people with no face nor name passing down the street
For the anonymous words of squares I wake her for the
Manufactured landscapes of public parks
I wake her for this planet of ours that might become a mine in the bleeding sky
I wake her for the smiles in the stone of comarades that fell asleep
Between two battles
When sky was no longer a big birdcage but
An airport
My love full of others is a part of dawn
I wake her for the dawn, for love, for myself, for others,
I wake her, even if it is more in vain than to call a bird
That landed forever
She must have said: let him look for me and see that I am gone
That woman with the hands of child that I love
That child fallen asleep with tears still not wiped, which I wake
In vain, in vain, in vain
In vain I wake her
For she will wake up different and new
In vain I wake her
For her mouth will not be able to tell
In vain I wake her
You know the water runs through but says nothing
In vain I wake her
A lost name should be promised to someone's face in sand
If it's not so cut off my arms and turn me into a stone.


Written by Branko Miljkovic
Iconic Serbian poet, one of the leaders of Neo Symbolist movement
This translation was provided by A. Milanovic

Feels like forever
Though she's only five
With a purpose in life
To ask the question why

A tiny Shakespeare
To be or not to be
The reason she's here
Is to make me think

Why is the sky blue
Why is the grass green
Why when birds clearly whistle
They say that they sing

Why do frogs leap
And bunnies hop
Why do dogs and trees
Both have a bark

Why do bees that sting
Make honey so sweet
Is there a man in the moon
And does he like cheese

Why are Summer's so hot
And Winter's so cold
Why do cat's get nine lives
And do dogs have souls

These are just some
Of the questions that come
My way each day
As I try and answer them

Feels like forever
Though she's only five
With a purpose in life
To ask the question why